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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418861">Muscle Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill'>adrianna_m_scovill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Law &amp; Order: SVU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hidden Talents, Pole Dancing, Shorts (Clothing), idk - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt was "quarantine stripper pole" but there's actually no mention of quarantine in this fic - sorry :/</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Barson Valentine's Day Collection 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Muscle Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Barba walked into his apartment and started to toss his keys onto the small table near the door but faltered in mid-gesture, wincing slightly when his keys clattered loudly to the wooden floor instead of making it all the way to the table. He stared in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Granted, he’d been away for a few months, but he was quite certain there hadn’t been a shiny metal stripper pole in the middle of his apartment the last time he’d been home.</p><p>“What the hell,” he muttered, dropping his suitcase beside the door and walking cautiously toward the pole. He glanced around, half expecting to find someone else lurking in his apartment, but the place was silent. </p><p>There was a red bow taped to the pole and a note stuck beneath it, and he snatched the paper free with a frown. Flipping it open, he scanned the words quickly:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Now that you’re back in the city, thought you might be looking for a new trade. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re not starting from scratch. You do remember the old skillset, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Keep your chin up, Rufio</em>
</p><p> </p><p>With his jaw clenched tight, he fished out his phone and called Rita Calhoun.</p><p>After a couple of rings, she answered with: “Guess you made it home.”</p><p>“How the hell did you get in my apartment?”</p><p>“Oh, come on, you know your mother loves me. I told her I wanted to leave you a present and she handed over a key with no questions asked.”</p><p>Barba lowered his chin and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God damn it, Rita—”</p><p>“I see you haven’t gotten your sense of humor back, yet.”</p><p>“You just kissed my security deposit goodbye for me.”</p><p>“If you decide to leave that apartment, I’ll pay your deposit. After I kick your ass.”</p><p>He snorted softly and looked up at the pole. “How did you even…” He reached out and wrapped his hand around the metal, giving an experimental tug. It didn’t budge. There were flared metal covers at the top and bottom, so he couldn’t see how the pole was attached, but they must have cut into both his ceiling and floor. He sighed.</p><p>“Don’t worry, it was professionally installed. It’s very sturdy. As long as you get a good grip, you’ll be fine—though I know I don’t need to tell you—”</p><p>“God damn it, Rita,” he repeated, but he couldn’t help but laugh now that the initial shock had worn off. “With friends like you…”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, who needs enemies.” She paused, and he could practically hear her mulling over her words before continuing. “I know you’ll probably turn up your nose at my clientele, but if you need a foot back in the door…”</p><p>“Thanks. I’m okay. Just...figuring things out,” he said, running his fingers absently along the smooth metal pole. </p><p>“Gotta go, drinks are on you next time.”</p><p>“What else is new,” he said, hanging up with a smile. He pocketed his phone and sighed again, looking at the <em> professionally-installed </em> dancer pole and wondering how much it would cost to have it professionally <em> uninstalled </em> before his mother came over to visit.</p><p>That would have to wait, though. He turned away and went to fetch his suitcase and pick up his keys. It felt good to be home, in his own apartment, after so long. He needed a little bit of time to unwind and relax before he resumed worrying about what the hell to do with his life.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Barba had told his mother he was home—he’d never hear the end of it if she found out he’d been in the city for a whole night without calling her—and he’d shot Benson a quick text to let her know, as well.</p><p>Her response: <em> Good news! Drinks soon. Let me know if you need anything. xx </em></p><p>Barba sighed before swallowing the last of his scotch and leaning forward to set the glass on the coffee table. He looked over his shoulder at the pole, still sporting its red bow, and thought back to his second year at Harvard when he’d been running on caffeine and junk food, always feeling like he was a few seconds away from unraveling completely.</p><p>He smiled, because he could pinpoint when his coffee-dependency had started. And because he’d survived. The current state of his career might be a little uncertain, but he knew he would figure it out. He was good at his job, and he could rebuild his reputation if it needed a revamp; he was pretty sure his record from the past couple decades could speak for itself, though. </p><p>Law school was a long time ago, and it was strange thinking back to all the sleepless nights, the knots of stress, the constant fear of inadequacy warring with the ego of youth. Barba didn’t spend much thought on those years, anymore, but he knew his pride was justified. He’d made it through against all odds, and he’d excelled academically. He’d also avoided most of the temptations that had been waved beneath his nose, sometimes literally.</p><p>He owed some of that to Rita and the other friends he’d made back then, and even though most of them had gone on to fight from the other side of the aisle, he would always be grateful for the support they’d given each other.</p><p>He and Rita had avoided all hard drugs, even those that were only supposed to help them stay awake, and part of that was because of their competitive personalities. Neither of them was going to admit that they couldn’t do something the other could, and that desire to prove themselves kept them going when they should rightfully collapse.</p><p>There was alcohol, though. They partied to unwind, particularly after exams or when they’d studied to the point of no longer being able to think. He’d always been mindful of the dangers of drinking, but he certainly hadn’t abstained. </p><p>If he had, he never would’ve ended up taking a pole-dancing class. The bet was made after they’d both imbibed too much to be held legally responsible for the verbal contract, but he’d honored the deal once he’d sobered up even though the class had significantly eaten into his meager budget.</p><p>And he’d dared Rita to join him. He’d lost the bet, but she couldn’t refuse a dare. Their agreement had been to take the class for the length of one semester. He’d stayed in for another month after that, finding the activity oddly relaxing. He’d never been great at sports, and back then he didn’t have the patience for yoga. In pole-dancing, much to his surprise, he’d found a physical activity that could relieve his stress because it required total focus, and it exhausted him in the best way.</p><p>He was good at it, much to Rita’s annoyance. She never enjoyed the class, never really learned how to let go enough to get into it, and she’d ragged him mercilessly when he announced that he was staying in the class longer than a semester. </p><p>That was a long time ago. Just because he could remember the technique and routines didn’t mean he could do them anymore. He’d gotten more into yoga and spin classes in recent years, but he wasn’t sure he had the upper body strength.</p><p>He got up and rounded the sofa to eye the pole, reaching out to pluck the bow free from the metal. He tossed the bow onto the table beside Rita’s note and walked back to the pole, running his fingers along the smooth, cool metal as he walked in a slow circle around it. He gave the pole another quick shake to make sure it didn’t wiggle.</p><p>He unbuttoned partway down his shirt before stripping it up and over his head, tossing it onto the back of the couch and leaving himself in his undershirt. He reached up and gripped the pole, surprised by the old rush of adrenaline that hit him as his forearm pressed flush against the cool metal. He hooked a leg around the pole and lifted his other foot from the floor, testing, the muscles in his arm flexing and bulging as they took the weight of his body.</p><p>“Hmm,” he said, smiling a little as he stood and took a step back. He considered the pole for a few seconds before grabbing his shirt and heading toward the bedroom, where he stripped out of the rest of his clothes before fishing out a pair of spandex exercise shorts. He shimmied into them with a grimace, adjusting himself into place. </p><p>He found his wireless earbuds and put them in, turning on the workout playlist he had on his ipod. He returned to the pole and walked another circle around it, eyeing the glinting metal like a man sizing up an old foe.  </p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>She knew he was back in the city, but he wasn’t answering the door or her texts. She debated, shifting his <em> welcome home </em> gift from one arm to the other as she tried calling him one more time. When she still got his voicemail, she sent another text instead.</p><p><em> Stopped by your place to drop something off. Sorry I missed you, just going to leave it inside</em>. She hesitated a moment longer. She didn’t want to leave it outside and there was no sense taking it with her after she’d driven out of her way to swing by his apartment. </p><p>And she didn’t think he’d care if she let herself in. She had a key—for emergencies, technically, but she wouldn’t have it if he didn’t trust her and it wasn’t like she was going to linger or snoop.</p><p>Adjusting the box one more time, she got out her keys and unlocked his door, stepping inside before she could talk herself out of it. And she froze, staring in stunned disbelief. </p><p>He was suspended halfway up a metal pole, one leg hooked around and the other extended with his toes pointed, head thrown back as his body spun around the pole. One arm was extended, too, and she stared at the bunching and rippling muscles, the expanses of skin glistening with sweat, the blue bicycle shorts that left very little to the imagination— </p><p>He swung himself down and landed on his feet with a grace she could scarcely fathom. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never imagined him like <em> this </em>: breathtakingly beautiful, full of power and strength but moving with enviable flexibility and delicate grace. </p><p>Suddenly he was staring at her, and she felt like she’d been caught doing something illicit. Heat rushed to her face, and she took a half step backward into the doorway. “I’m sorry—God, I’m sorry—” she managed, temporarily forgetting why she’d even come to his apartment.</p><p>He didn’t jump at the sight of her, but his eyes widened and his face went briefly slack with surprise even as his body stiffened. He reached up and plucked the buds from his ears, and she finally realized why he hadn’t heard her.</p><p>“Olivia,” he said, his tone mild.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I knocked and—and called your phone, but—I just meant to drop this off,” she added, finally remembering the package, and she tried to hold it up. Fumbling, she dropped it to the floor with a clatter and winced, bending quickly to snatch it up. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor, and she swore under her breath as she tried to shove Chapstick and a granola bar back inside. </p><p>“Thanks,” he said, sounding strangely amused, and she chanced a glance up at his face. He looked amused, too, although he was standing close to the pole and had one hand hanging loosely in front of himself as if either could hide the fact that his shorts were very, very form-fitting. “You, um...want a drink?”</p><p>She laughed, the sound a mixture of relief and embarrassment, as she finally managed to stand with both her purse and his present. “I’m so sorry I walked in—” </p><p>“Guess I forgot the chain.”</p><p>“—I didn’t think you were here and I was just going to leave this—”</p><p>“I admire your restraint, but you can go ahead and ask.” He swiped a hand over his face, clearing away the perspiration, and wiped his palm on the leg of his shorts. She studiously kept her eyes on his face. His hair was mussed and a little damp. He still had the beard—it was thicker than the last time they’d video-chatted, and she found herself wondering absently if he meant to keep it.</p><p>“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she said, and his face split into a grin. </p><p>“Maybe start by closing the door before my neighbors learn more about me than I’d care to share,” he suggested, cocking an eyebrow.</p><p>“Which side of the door should I be on?” she asked, and he laughed. </p><p>“You can stay, if you want. I’ll put on something more decent.”</p><p>“Not on my account,” she said before her brain could catch up to her tongue, and both of his eyebrows went up. She turned to close the door, and to get away from his smirk long enough to gather some semblance of thought. “I mean, I can’t stay long,” she added. </p><p>“Mm. I obviously wasn’t expecting visitors.”</p><p>“I know I haven’t spent much time here, Barba, but I’m pretty sure I don’t remember this,” she said as she faced him, gesturing toward the pole.</p><p>“It was a welcoming gift from Rita.”</p><p>“Rita <em> Calhoun</em>?” </p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“Now I’m not sure how to feel about bringing a bottle of scotch and a tie that Noah picked out.”</p><p>“There’s a glass bottle in there?” he asked, eyeing the box that she’d recently dropped onto the floor.</p><p>“I think it’s fine. There’s chocolate-covered coffee beans, too.” She walked over and set the package on the table. “Sorry to ruin the surprise.”</p><p>“Sounds like a gift much more tailored to me.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know. You seemed to know what you were doing up there.”</p><p>He smiled, scratching at his beard. She could see the color high in his cheeks and wasn’t sure how much was from exertion and how much from embarrassment. “I took a class. It was a long time ago. Turns out I still remember a few tricks, although my body’s going to hate me in the morning.”</p><p>“A class.”</p><p>“Yes. It was supposed to be for a semester but I ended up staying in for, oh...five months, give or take. Until I really couldn’t justify the expense anymore without my mother finding out.”</p><p>“Rita knew.”</p><p>“Oh,” he laughed, “Rita was directly responsible.”</p><p>“Were you dating?” Then, before he could answer, she held up a hand. “You don’t have to tell me, that’s none of my business. Sorry.”</p><p>“I was only dating guys at the time,” he said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but she could read a lot of mixed emotions in his eyes. “If you could call it dating,” he added with a small, lopsided smile. “Rita and I were friends. And rivals. We had a bet one night after far too much cheap beer. I lost, so I had to sign up for the class. But I dared her to join me.” Benson had to laugh at the devilish glint in his eyes. “I don’t think she made it the whole semester. It was never her cup of tea.”</p><p>“But you liked it?” she guessed.</p><p>“Surprisingly, yes.”</p><p>“What was the bet?”</p><p>“Who could shove more marshmallows into their mouth. It’s honestly a miracle we’ve both made it this far in life.”</p><p>“Why on earth would you wager stakes that high on something—”</p><p>“I was very confident,” he deadpanned. “Very,” he added for emphasis before his face split into another grin and he shrugged a shoulder. “We were young and needed a way to blow off steam.” He pointed a finger. “You can read it, if you want.”</p><p>She glanced at the note on the table beside her. “Rufio?”</p><p>“Apparently, the night of my twenty-first birthday, a bunch of us got shitfaced and watched the movie Hook. With Robin Williams? I don’t remember, but I’m told that there’s a scene where everyone is chanting this kid’s name, <em> Rufio, Rufio, Ru-fi-ohhh</em>, and I thought they were chanting Rafael. The name stuck for a while.” He looked past her at the note, and there was a hint of wistfulness in his expression. “It was her way of reminding me I’ve got friends.”</p><p>“I hope you know she’s not the only one.”</p><p>He smiled and met her eyes. “No, I know,” he said softly. “But it’s not quite the same.”</p><p>“We don’t go back as many years—”</p><p>“I meant I don’t owe her any apologies or...anything.”</p><p>“You don’t owe me anything either.”</p><p>He hummed noncommittally, searching her face for a few moments before seeming to shake off his somber thoughts. He smiled. “I do owe you a dinner, we can talk then?” He put a hand on the pole and raised his eyebrows at her. “So what do you say, wanna give it a go? I can lend you some shorts.”</p><p>“You own more than one pair of those?” she asked, her eyes flicking downward before returning to his face.</p><p>He flashed his teeth and cocked a brow. “Gotta be able to color coordinate,” he said, and she laughed as she gave her head a little shake. He tapped a finger against the pole in invitation.</p><p>“Maybe next time,” she said.</p><p>“Hmm. Then I have a reason to keep it.”</p><p>She smiled and walked over to lean against the sofa. “You should definitely keep it,” she agreed. “At least for a while. So...you have tricks you can show me?”</p><p>His grin widened. “Oh, you want a demonstration?”</p><p>“If you’re offering.”</p><p>“Liv, you know I’m always offering anything you’re willing to accept,” he said, chuckling when she shot him an exasperated look. “Alright, prepare yourself,” he warned, wrapping his fingers around the pole.</p><p>“I’m prepared,” she said.</p><p>He shot her a look—both confident and amused—that said he knew otherwise.</p><p>He was right; she wasn’t prepared.</p>
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